Oblivion
by Exceeds Expectations
Summary: "Oblivion," you say, "waits for everyone, you know." /Regulus, Sirius, and choosing sides. AU.


**A/N: **Dear Merlin. You know when you have a fic that just won't. Come. Out. Of. Your. Head? Yeah, this is that. So, um, enjoy my slightly pointless AUness. (Sidenote: confused!Reg and bastard!Barty are so fun to write. (Hint hint.))

Thanks to Kelly for her help and advice with this (and also for the initial idea, which I may have stolen)!

For Round 5 of the Hunger Games Competition, ladies and gents.

**Prompts used (five out of the ten provided in the HG comp):** Regulus Black as a character, "I never meant for this to happen", the Astronomy Tower, the word oblivion, and exhilaration as an emotion.

* * *

_**Sirius – 1970**_

* * *

"Oblivion," you say to Regulus, "waits for everyone, you know."

He perches on the edge of your bed, staring at you with open admiration.

"What's that mean, then?" he asks, all blinking innocence and barefaced awe.

"One day, the darkness is going to swallow us all," you say calmly, coolly, wondering for a moment if you truly believe this or if you just want to be wise and mysterious. But there is always truth in your words, no matter how hard you fight it.

"Like – like dying?" Reg asks.

"Maybe," you say, shrugging your shoulders casually, shirking all outward appearances of worry, of fear. "Maybe worse."

"What's worse than being _dead_?" Regulus asks, voice holding the kind of disbelief only children can feel.

"What's better?" you reply, and Regulus cannot answer. "I'm telling you now, Reg; one day, oblivion will be everything you fear; the next, everything you wish for. Remember that."

And even as you say, you aren't quite sure what it means, but you know that it is true.

"Goodnight, Reg," you murmur, and give him a little push off the edge of your bed.

"Sirius," he whispers. "C-can I stay in your bed tonight? Just tonight?"

You pause for a moment, staring at those grey eyes that are so much like your own.

"Oh, go on then," you sigh, and he scrambles in beside you, curling up against you, his cold toes brushing against your calf.

"Sirius?" he whispers again. "Oblivion won't – won't get me tonight, will it?"

You chuckle, low in your throat, and nudge him with your elbow. "Nah, Reg. I'm here. I'll save you."

"Really?"

"Really," you promise. "Oblivion won't get you for a long, long time."

_But it will get you_, you think. _It'll get us all._

And when the darkness claims you, it's not quite oblivion, but it's close.

* * *

_**Regulus – 1972**_

* * *

"Slytherin!" the Hat cries, and the cheering crowd cannot drown out the echo of disappointed silence that radiates from Sirius. He sits among that sea of red and gold as you walk towards green and silver, and you can still see him as he turns away from you, cool gaze in place, indifference in the shrug of his shoulders.

"Welcome, little cousin," Bellatrix purrs. "You've done your parents proud."

"Thank you," you say, but the words are hollow.

There is a blond boy with a cold stare who watches you as you sit.

"You can do very well here, Black," he says. "But you'll need to be careful; can't have you turning out like that brother of yours, can we?"

There is laughter and banter and jokes about _those Gryffindors, _and you don't know how to feel about being part of _the others._

Against Sirius.

A sandy haired boy slots onto the bench next to you and smiles.

"Barty Crouch," he says. "I'm gonna be the best Slytherin I can be. And you are?"

"Regulus Black," you mutter. "And I'm going to try."

Barty smiles.

(It has begun.)

* * *

_**Sirius – 1976**_

* * *

Your hands keep shaking. You cannot keep them still.

"What are you doing?" Regulus asks, and you keep throwing your stuff into the old, ratty duffel bag you borrowed from Remus, shoving in crumpled robes and frayed t-shirts that you shouldn't have owned anyway, and you are so very tempted to ignore him.

"Away."

"Where?" His voice is pained, like he knows what you're about to say before you do, and you wonder if you can let it go unspoken. You're not sure you're brave enough to say the words, to make it all so very real.

"Away, Reg. Away."

You turn to face him, and he stares up at you with those bright grey eyes. You remember when his face was a little rounder, his fingers pudgier, his voice higher; so much has changed in such a short space of time and soon he will be a man.

A man who doesn't know how to fight the good fight.

A man on the other side of the war.

A man who you are against.

"You're coming back though. Aren't you?"

Your hands are still shaking.

"I don't think so, Reg. Not this time."

"Where will you go?"

No _why_s or _what about me_s or _you can't_s. Where will you go? Where _will_ you go?

"James'."

"Sirius," he says, and his voice sounds dangerously close to begging. "Sirius, please, don't do this..."

"You know what, Reg? I had such high hopes for you. Even when you ended up in Slytherin. But that Barty Crouch...the others, too... How long until you take the Mark then?"

Regulus bristles. "As soon as that hat put me in Slytherin, you stopped giving a fuck about me, and you know it. I was eleven, Sirius. All I wanted was – was my big brother."

You glance at him quickly. There are tears in his eyes and his face is flushed red.

"Regulus, you can't think that. Even now, Reg, _even now – _I – I care, okay? I care, but I can't stay here, and I can't watch you fall into the Death Eaters hands. Don't ask me to stay unless you can promise me you won't. Promise me."

Silence has never rung so loud.

"Goodbye, Reg."

Slamming the door brings a rush of relief; realising it is the last time you will ever do so brings an unexpected pang of sadness.

* * *

_**Regulus – 1977**_

* * *

"Oblivion," you say to Barty, "waits for everyone, you know."

You're perched on the edge of the Astronomy Tower, feet dangling over the side, staring at the empty vastness of the grounds, and you can think of nothing but _the end_.

The end of the grounds. The end of the world. The end of you.

Even though the dark clouds have buried the moon, it is just bright enough for you to make out the line of Barty's jaw, the shine of his eye. There is a silver glow that paints him a little too angelic, and you shiver in the midnight breeze. You know he is no angel.

You stare as Barty nods, cigarette hanging limply between his lips. You watch Barty breathe in that sweet smoke, cheeks hollow, eyes half-closed, and wait for him to speak. He always does.

"Never give up, do you, Reg?" Barty asks. "Never just think..._fuck it_? You're so caught up on what's gonna happen when you're dead. What about now? What's gonna happen when you're _alive_, Reg?"

You stare, watching Barty's angel face as it twists into something different – something you have no name for.

"Listen to me, Regulus Black. You want to live forever? Then you better do something worth remembering. No one remembers the quiet boy who dangles off towers and wonders what it's like to die. People remember heroes, Reg. Heroes," he whispers. The sharp, smokey heat of his breath hits your chin. You breathe it in, stomach twisting at the too-familiar scent of Barty.

"Tell me, Reg," he says, stubbing out his cigarette on the cool stone of the tower and flicking it casually from the edge. "Are you a hero?"

"No," you say_. Not yet_.

And you watch the cigarette until it falls so far that you cannot even pretend to see it. The blackness swallows it, and you wonder if it's even down there, if it's landed on the grounds, or if it's just fallen into oblivion.

(Oblivion always welcomes those whose flames have been put out.

You will come to learn this in time.)

* * *

_**Sirius – 1978**_

* * *

You can't open it. You can't.

The letter sits on the table before you, your name on the front in the curling, elegant script of Regulus' hand, and you are too afraid of what it might say and what you know it won't... It is better left unopened.

But you're Sirius Black and you've never been one to think things through, and when you open the letter, read it as if the words are oxygen filling your failing lungs, your stomach turns and knots and you need to get _out of here, _for fuck's sake.

You scrawl a note to James – _Gone for a ride on the bike, be back soon. S – _and grab your keys from the table by the door, and you hop onto your motorbike and decide the best way to think things through is with your head in the clouds.

The wind drags at your skin, catches in your jacket. You feel it slap against your back, and that, the rush of wind, and the roar of the engine are the only things you can hear. You have never felt this free, this _exhilarated_, and you're already forgetting Regulus' letter.

Aren't you?

* * *

_Sirius,_

_Sometimes I wish you'd never left. Sometimes I wonder if you might, too._

_One day, oblivion will be everything you fear; the next, everything you wish for. I understand that now._

_I'm sorry. I really, truly am._

_Yours,_

_Regulus_

* * *

_**Regulus – 1978**_

* * *

The Mark burns into your flesh.

It is painful and searing and _breathtaking_ in the worst possible way, and you feel as if you're becoming part of something important, something _big._

That night, Barty says, "We'll be heroes together," and drags his teeth across your shoulder, kisses bruises onto your collarbones, presses his lips tenderly to the Mark, and whispers his _I love you_s to the back of your neck.

But there is something in your chest, something so very small and broken, that shivers at Barty's touch, that tells you this is not the way to heroism, this is the gate to oblivion, and you have already started to fall.

"No one can forget us now," Barty says, and you can think of nothing but to kiss him roughly.

(If ever there was a time for forgetting, it is now.)

* * *

_**Sirius - 1979**_

* * *

Your little brother's a traitor. You know that much.

Well. In reality, _you're _the traitor, but a part of you had always hoped he would follow in your hasty footsteps, burst forth from the shadow of your twisted family and the darkness of your name, shrug that pureblood _responsibility_ from his shoulders and fall at the feet of the Order, begging for forgiveness, begging to help.

Instead, he falls at your feet begging for his life, staring at the end of your wand with fear in his eyes and saying, "Sirius, _please... _It shouldn't end this way, you know it shouldn't..."

"Give me one good reason not to, Reg," you growl. The words rip from your throat painfully, and it shouldn't be this hard to fight an enemy this wrong, it shouldn't hurt this much to be _right. _"One good reason not to stop your fucking sick, pathetic little heart."

"I'm on your side, Sirius, I want to be – I've been trying to – ," he stutters, stumbling over his words and tripping over his lies, his _excuses. "_Can you just – just put down your wand, alright? And I'll explain everything. Okay?"

You stare at him. Regulus. Your _brother. _Your baby brother with the same grey eyes, the same haughty smile, the same fear and _sorry_ and _what-are-we-doing_ reflected in his eyes.

You lower your wand slowly.

"The locket," he says. "We need to get the locket."

And it all falls apart after that.

* * *

_**Regulus - 1979**_

* * *

You stand at the entrance to the cave, teeth chattering and bones shaking in your skin, and Sirius says, "You're sure? This is it?"

"I'm sure."

For a second, neither of you moves; perhaps you are both too busy savouring the salt air, the dimming sky, the bite of autumn's wind. Perhaps you are both lost in the thought that this might be it.

Perhaps this is the gateway to oblivion.

It takes one small shift, barely a step forward, for the moment to shatter around you.

"Come on," Sirius mutters, and shoulders past. He always was that bit braver.

But they are lying in wait – you should've known they'd be here, you should've _known _– with their wands pointed at your chest. Greyback's growl is echoing around the cave, Avery's thin lips curling into a smile, Malfoy's laugh shaking against the stone_. _There is nowhere to run.

And Sirius glances at you quickly, betrayal in his eyes. You see the expectation on his face; he is waiting for you to switch sides, to join your fellow Death Eaters.

You do not move.

"Well, isn't this nice?" Malfoy asks, voice dangerously low.

"Delightful," Sirius spits.

There are a few brief moments of panic before he charges, wand firing, haphazard and oh so precise at the exact same time, eyes blazing, and you have no choice but to _choose_.

There's no way out this time.

You stand by your brother – _Merin, help me – _and everything is a blur.

Malfoy goes rigid, falls to the floor. Avery screams. Sirius hisses and clutches at his shoulder.

There is a beat of silence, a moment of nothing but quick breaths and furtive glances, and Sirius grabs you by the wrist, spins, and the cave disappears.

Your hands feel strangely empty. You had expected to leave (_hoped _to leave) with the locket clasped between your fingers.

You land on Alastor Moody's doorstep.

Sirius bursts inside, drags you by the wrist. You drop to your knees on the carpet, right before Alastor himself.

"I never meant for this to happen," you choke out. "I didn't know they were – "

But Sirius isn't listening anymore; he has turned his back one last time.

* * *

_**Sirius – 1980**_

* * *

You remember that letter from so long ago when Moody tells you that they found him guilty.

"He was sorry," you whisper, but no one is listening.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," James says quietly, clapping you on the shoulder.

"Yeah," you mutter. "Yeah, mate. Me, too."

Everyone is sorry.

You remember the letter, and how satisfying it was to watch it burn.

* * *

_**Regulus – 1980**_

* * *

It is oh so dark in here.

They call to you from their cells, the others.

"_Traitor_," they say. "_Traitor traitor traitor_..."

If only that weren't what Sirius would say, too.

It is oh so dark.

* * *

_**Sirius – 1981**_

* * *

It happens so fast.

They are dead, the house smoking around them, and Peter runs like the rat that he is, and your wand hand shakes and then –

Suddenly your world becomes bare grey walls, one mocking window, thick, rusted bars, and _screams_, so many screams, and you try to think back to yesterday, back to James' crooked smile and Lily's affectionate annoyance and Remus' world-weary sighs and even Peter's blushing mumbles and your heart leaps, aches, begs you to just _stop_.

Stop.

"I hate you," you hiss.

"I know," comes Regulus' voice from the darkness.

It is the first time you've spoken in years.

"Welcome, brother," he says quietly, low voice carrying even over the screeches and shrieks of the other prisoners, "to oblivion."


End file.
